


Sunflower Samurai

by madamteatime



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution, Samurai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamteatime/pseuds/madamteatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changmin is the daimyo of Sendai's most prized possession, a beautiful and jealously guarded treasure...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunflower Samurai

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dumbandconfused](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dumbandconfused).



> This is adapted from another fic I wrote a long time ago which is why the style/characterisations might seem a little different for me. But regardless - companion fic to [this](http://madamteatime.tumblr.com/post/62577561326) art.  
> My knowledge of Japanese history is...elementary at best, so historical inaccuracies abound.

That year a procession from Edo came to Sendai.

Thirty samurai, ten retainers and five scribes descended on the castle like a tempest sent by the Shogun himself, their sole purpose seemingly to enjoy the hospitality of Daimyo Kazen and his court.

It rained the day the samurai came. Changmin watched the droplets paint the courtyard in rivulets from the veranda. He was brushing his hair, dragging the comb from the crown of his head down to where the ebony fall stopped at his waist. The rain was a welcome respite from the summer heat, and the earth steamed as the heavens showered it in forgiving coolness. Changmin set his comb aside and twisted his hair into a coiled mass on his head. The sleeves of his kimono nudged the pins at his side as he reached for them and slid them into his hair, his eyes flickering away from the rain to the mirror set before him as he fixed each strand into place. His painted face gazed back at him, the kohl outlining his eyes making them look dark and huge. Once he was satisfied with his hair Changmin dipped a brush in the pot of rouge beside him and painted his lips in two deft strokes. Kazen had told him to look beautiful for their guests, no doubt aware that this would require minimal effort on Changmin’s part.

“Changmin! They’re here – you have to come and see!”

A figure hung out of his doorway, and Changmin glanced over his shoulder as Minho the kitchen boy beckoned urgently to him. Changmin rose to his feet and followed his friend to the castle entrance, where they joined a gaggle of maids, retainers and giggling court ladies as they all peeked out at their guests. Minho pointed to a window that provided a better vantage point and pulled Changmin towards it.

The scene in the courtyard was, at first glance, far less exciting than all the hype warranted. On one side stood Kazen, daimyo of Sendai han, his hands folded in the sleeves of his haori. A number of his retainers and advisors stood with him, all under umbrellas, though Kazen was the only one with the advantage of having his held by a servant.

Coming through the castle gates was the procession from Edo, impressive and forbidding despite being rather wet. At their forefront strode a samurai of such striking beauty that it instantly explained why all the maids and court ladies seemed extra giggly. The perfectly chiselled quality of his features alone would have been enough to make him stand out, but it was his long, golden-brown hair, tied back and tapering down his back, that really made heads turn. It made him especially conspicuous in a sea of dark heads; and yet he was obviously Japanese, though what other ancestry lingered in his bloodlines was a mystery.     

“Who is that?” Changmin whispered to Minho, who, like all servants, was an avid subscriber to the household rumour mill.

“His name is Jung Yunho. He and Lord Kazen grew up together and trained at the same dojo in Edo. But Yunho stayed on to become one of the shogun’s samurai while Lord Kazen returned home to take his father’s place as daimyo,” Minho said. Noting Changmin’s rapt fascination, Minho grinned and nudged him. “Handsome, isn’t he?”

“Oh shush,” Changmin said, waving him off.

“Alright, but don’t let Lord Kazen hear you were making eyes at the newcomer. You know how he is,” Minho said. Changmin grimaced – he did know how Kazen was, usually first hand. But then again it was his right; Changmin’s parents had died when he was very young, and a few years ago Kazen had found him in one of the less reputable establishments of Sendai, fallen madly in love with him and made him his tayu. Kazen owned him in both body and soul, and in return Changmin was afforded all the comforts of a favourite concubine.

Out in the courtyard, Kazen was striding to meet his guests, the servant holding his umbrella running along behind him to keep up. He and Yunho appeared to converse for a while, then embraced. Kazen announced a banquet that night in honour of their guests and a great cheer went up. They started towards the castle and the watchers scattered to their various duties; but Changmin lingered, his eyes on the golden-haired samurai.

\- - -

Changmin had mastered all the arts of a courtesan, but there was none he excelled at more than that of the shamisen. He had become so good that it was not rare, on most nights, for the household to request a performance from him after dinner. On the occasion that they had guests it was practically expected.

It was a small gathering consisting of a select group of Kazen’s closest advisors and some of their guests. At their forefront sat Kazen and Yunho, drinking and laughing. Yunho exuded an easy charm that could have coaxed a smile from stone and Kazen, though normally more taciturn, had loosened up in his presence. When Changmin entered they were already a little tipsy, though the room quietened as he set up. He sank gracefully to his knees, the shamisen cradled against his body, and met Kazen’s gaze.

“Please,” Kazen indicated that he begin. Changmin smiled and strummed the strings experimentally a few times before beginning to play. Silence fell over the group and Changmin let his gaze drift, feeling the soft vibration of the music thrum through him. He glanced at the entranced men, eyes flickering from those who were genuinely enjoying the music to those who, he knew, were paying more attention to his face and the slender lines of his body. He only allowed himself to look at Yunho once he had met everyone else’s gaze, and blinked in surprise – Yunho was the only one not looking at him, but instead down at his glass. A flicker of confusion crossed Changmin’s features before he schooled his expression. He looked at Kazen and saw that he was smiling slightly, and returned the smile with a shy little one of his own.

When it was done they all clapped and Kazen indicated that Changmin join them. Other Oiran filtered into the room and the noise level rose as they plied their guests with drink and conversation. Changmin found himself in the unenviable spot between Kazen and Yunho, blushing as Kazen softly told him he had been perfect. But his attention was on the samurai who had so rudely ignored his song. Kazen’s attention shifted and Changmin turned to Yunho, only to find that the other man was already glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“I suspect Lord Yunho prefers pursuits more lively than listening to the shamisen. I apologise if my song bored you,” Changmin said. Yunho turned to face him completely, his gaze raking Changmin with an intensity that made him shiver.

“Your song was lovely,” Yunho said, affecting a small smile of his own. “But your beauty proved too distracting for me to appreciate it, and so I had to look away.”

Normally Changmin would have had a quick retort ready for that; he was not unused to overtures about his beauty. And yet for once he found himself blushing and speechless. He looked down at his hands, folded demurely in his lap, and heard Yunho chuckle somewhere above him.

“I thought it impossible, but you are somehow even more radiant when you blush,” he said.

“Lord Yunho is too kind,” Changmin murmured. Brown hair flicked at the edge of his vision and then a hand bearing a sake cup appeared under his nose.

“Drink with me,” Yunho said softly. Their fingers grazed as Changmin took the cup from him, the lightest of touches that nonetheless ensured he stayed by Yunho’s side for the rest of the night.

It was almost dawn by the time the revellers gave up and went to bed. Changmin had drunk sparingly and he knew Kazen had too; it was his policy, at gatherings like this, to be the soberest man in the room at all times, a strategy that had ensured him a long reign, close friends and leverage over his enemies. Changmin retired to his room, and was in the process of unpinning his hair with a soft, dreamy smile on his face when a discreet cough from outside his door made him pause.

“You may enter,” he said. The screen slid aside to reveal a kneeling retainer.

“Lord Kazen requires your presence in his chambers,” the man said.

“Thank you,” Changmin said, and the man bowed himself out.

He finished unpinning his hair and wiped off all his makeup but the rouge on his lips. Then he adjusted his kimono, loosening it and twisting his obi to the front so it was easier to untie. Satisfied, Changmin made his way to Kazen’s private chambers, conveniently located just down the corridor from his own. Once Kazen called him in Changmin knelt to slide the door closed behind him before making his way across the room. Kazen was seated at his desk, a brush in his hand and various papers scattered across the surface. He looked unnaturally awake for so late an hour, and glanced up at Changmin as he folded himself onto his knees before him.

“What did you think of our guests today?” Kazen asked without preamble. Changmin thought of Yunho with his dangerous charisma and good looks and forced himself not to smile.

“I thought them boisterous and friendly,” Changmin said. Kazen snorted and lay his brush aside.

“You are too quick to think good of everyone. They are here for the sankin kotai, fully aware that we cannot afford such a pompous parade right now. They are here because I swallowed my pride and asked the Shogun for funds to help repair the damage, and now he means to make me crawl to Edo and beg him for them,” Kazen mused bitterly. Sendai had been hit with an earthquake earlier that year, and rebuilding the castle and town had depleted their treasury to critical levels. Changmin sucked in a breath. It may have seemed strange for Kazen to be discussing such matters with his tayu, but there were no secrets between them. Kazen was as candid with him as he was with his closest advisors.

“I didn’t realise things were that bad,” Changmin murmured. “But you must go; our people need the help badly. You are a good lord, Kazen, I know you will do the right thing by them.”

Kazen sighed and rubbed his forehead. “He rankles at me, that man,” he said, still thinking of the Shogun. “Where was he when the earthquake hit us? Why was it that I had to ask him before he lifted a finger to help? He must have taken great pleasure from it, seeing a han as powerful as Sendai brought to its knees. I could have him killed for the insult. . .”

“It is unwise to express such sentiments out loud, especially now with your castle full of the Shogun’s men,” Changmin said softly. He rose and went to Kazen, curling comfortingly against his side. Kazen wrapped an arm around his waist and tilted Changmin’s face towards him. When their lips met Changmin sighed and melted against him, his hand sliding up Kazen’s chest and clutching in the material of his yukata.    

Kazen rose and led him to his bedroom, where he lay Changmin down on the futon and undressed him with slow, familiar caresses. Changmin made himself pliant under his touch; he was flushed and panting by the time Kazen pulled back to gaze down at his naked body. Changmin’s kimono was still hanging off his arms and most of it was crushed under him, but he knew Kazen liked it when he was partly clothed during sex. His hand stroked Changmin’s thigh and Changmin spread his legs for him, his breath loud and heavy in contrast to Kazen’s intense silence. Kazen dipped his fingers in the pot of oil at his bedside and nudged Changmin’s legs further apart before pushing both fingers into him at once. Changmin arched off the bed and groaned, his thighs trembling as Kazen prepared him, allowing tears to gather at the edge of his eyes.

All this had the combined effect of making Kazen too impatient to hold back anymore. He withdrew his fingers and fumbled with the tie of his robes, shrugging out of them and crawling over Changmin with barely suppressed desire. He hitched Changmin’s leg over his shoulder and thrust into him hard and fast and Changmin cried out, arching up. His whimpers filled the room as Kazen started to move, each desperate sound calculated to fall at just the right pitch. Changmin knew what Kazen liked, and there was nothing he liked better than the sound of his tayu’s pained little whimpers. This, too, was an art that Changmin had perfected, and he drew Kazen to the edge with practiced ease, trembling and clenching around him at just the right moments. Kazen came with a low groan, his fingers digging into Changmin’s hips, and Changmin whimpered as wet heat filled him.

He was still hard and aching when Kazen pulled out of him. Changmin’s gaze pleaded with him for relief; he was trembling, but he would not touch himself without permission.

“Please,” Changmin moaned. At Kazen’s nod he slid a hand down his body and wrapped it around his arousal, groaning as he started to stroke. And this, too, was part of the performance. He made sure not to go too fast, though it was torture. Changmin thrust up into his fist and bit down on his lower lip, aware that it was plump and swollen from kissing, aware that Kazen was watching him. His hand moved faster, sweat coalescing across his shoulder blades as soft, desperate little sounds escaped past his lips. When he came it was with a soundless moan, shuddering as white fluid covered his hand and stomach.

Exhausted, Changmin sank bonelessly against the bedding for a moment before forcing himself upright. Kazen didn’t always allow him to stay the night, and he didn’t want to seem presumptuous. But Kazen was clearly in a generous mood that night, because he folded Changmin in his arms and fell back against the bed with him.

But though he slept in the daimyo’s arms, that night Changmin dreamt of a samurai with hair of gold.   

\- - -

The procession from Edo settled into Sendai as though they had no intention of ever leaving. Some of the visiting samurai came and went, but Yunho and his retainers refused to budge. Changmin knew the negotiations were going badly – Kazen, his pride insulted, was insisting the Shogun prove his good will by providing some of his promised aid before he went to Edo. His famed stubbornness was matched only by Yunho’s, who was affronted that Kazen suspected the Shogun of anything but good will. The thin veneer of their friendship started to crumble under the stress of politics and an old rivalry, and the atmosphere in the castle slowly deteriorated the longer Yunho and his retinue stayed with them.

It was Changmin who had to bear the brunt of Kazen’s frustration and anger with their guests, Changmin who had to nurse Kazen’s wounded pride through long nights. But it was Yunho who noticed that he looked tired, who enquired quietly as to whether he was feeling well. Changmin wanted very much to hit him, to tell him it was his fault he was so tired. But the genuine concern on Yunho’s face made him deflate, and instead he found himself teetering on the edge of exhausted tears.

It was late and the room was crowded with the usual after-dinner gathering. Yunho had been drinking sparingly, his gaze on Kazen, who was brooding silently in a corner.  But his attention was entirely on Changmin now, who despite his best efforts couldn’t stop one lone tear from rolling down his cheek, where it was caught by Yunho’s finger. He raised the droplet to his mouth and kissed it away, making Changmin’s breath hitch. 

“What ails you?” Yunho whispered.

“I – ” Changmin looked around as a hush fell over the room. Kazen had risen abruptly and was striding towards the door. He inclined his head the bare minimum that politeness required before leaving, the screen slamming shut behind him. Changmin sighed.

“I should go after him,” he muttered. Yunho frowned.

“No. You are tired and distressed. I will see you to your room, and if Kazen requires your presence he can send for you,” he said. Too weary to argue with him, Changmin allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. They bid the gathering goodnight and Yunho ushered Changmin ahead of him, silencing the drunken catcalls of his retinue with a glare.

“I’m sorry about them,” Yunho said as they started to head down the hall. Changmin hid a smile.

“I doubt any of them will even remember tonight in the morning,” he said. It was the first time they had been alone together – all their other interactions had been conducted in gatherings, and Changmin suddenly became aware of Yunho’s hand on the small of his back, and the fact that he smelt of soap and fresh earth. Changmin had grown to enjoy Yunho’s company immensely; the samurai always spoke to him as an equal, and after their initial meeting had made no untoward passes at him. Changmin had few friends in the castle – the other courtesans hated him for, as they saw it, cheating his way through their ranks by currying Kazen’s favour, the men stayed away from him for fear of stirring Kazen’s jealousy and the servants had neither the time nor the inclination to befriend the daimyo’s pampered little toy. Minho was the only person in the castle he could call his friend; and now, somehow, Yunho.

They reached his room in silence, and Changmin made his way inside before pausing with his back to Yunho, who was lingering in the doorway. Slowly, Changmin’s hands rose to his hair, and he withdrew the pins holding it in place so that it unfurled down his back. He heard Yunho swallow and glanced over his shoulder, noting the whites of his knuckles where he was clutching the doorframe, and the tense set of his jaw. Changmin wondered if he would take his silent invitation; but as long minutes passed and Yunho remained motionless, he realised something: Yunho would never touch him without his express permission. He had too much honour and, Changmin perceived suddenly, respect for him. He wasn’t used to getting respect, not even from Kazen.

Changmin turned to face Yunho in a whisper of silk, his eyes searching the other man’s gaze. He knew if anything was to happen between them he would have to be the one to initiate it, to deliberately and knowingly betray Kazen. And yet he seemed unable to stop himself from going to Yunho, from taking his hand and drawing him into his room. The door slid shut behind them and Yunho’s hands rose to his shoulders, caressing and warm. Changmin lowered his eyes, terrified by the magnitude of what he was doing, by the possibility of being caught.

But he forgot everything when Yunho’s lips touched his, soft and uncertain at first, then harder as Changmin arched into him. Their arms came up around each other and Changmin made a muffled sound, trembling with the force of the need that had suddenly gripped him. Yunho kissed him again and again, quite as though he had no control over his own actions, and in that Changmin found that he was in perfect sync. They sank down onto the bed and Changmin sighed as the full weight of Yunho pinned him.

By the time Yunho pulled back Changmin’s lips felt swollen and bruised. He gazed up at the other man, wide-eyed and trembling, and saw Yunho looking back at him with such tenderness that it stole his breath away.

“M-my lord. . .” Changmin stuttered. Yunho smiled and lowered his head again.

“How many times have I told you? Just Yunho,” he murmured, pressing kisses along Changmin’s throat. Changmin let his head fall back with a soft gasp and curled his fingers in Yunho’s back.

“Yunho. . .” he whispered. That seemed to please Yunho, and he sealed their lips together again. Their movements became more urgent, and Changmin whimpered as Yunho’s fingers slipped into the folds of his kimono, stroking his stomach briefly before moving lower.

“Shh. . .” Yunho whispered. He urged Changmin to his knees and knelt behind him, sliding his kimono down his arms. Ebony strands of hair fanned over creamy skin. He brushed Changmin’s hair aside and kissed the back of his neck, their breath mingling in the quiet space.

“Yunho. . .we can’t – if someone hears – ” Changmin protested softly. To his surprise and slight disappointment, Yunho paused and pulled away. He seemed to consider something for a long moment before sighing, in which time Changmin turned to face him. With infinite care, Yunho drew the folds of Changmin’s kimono back around him and dropped his hands.

“Not like this,” he murmured. Changmin blinked in confusion and Yunho cupped his cheek, their lips mere inches apart. “I won’t have you like this, like a shameful secret. You deserve better than that,” he whispered. Changmin stared at him. Nobody that he had offered himself to had ever turned him down, much less for so sweet a reason. He buried his face in Yunho chest and felt strong arms close around him and was sure, for just an instant, that if he could keep that moment suspended in his memory forever he need never fear anything again.    

\- - -

Changmin woke with an unfamiliar sense of absolute peace, and it took him a moment to remember why. He touched his lips, where the trace of Yunho’s kisses still seemed to linger, and smiled. That Yunho had left him last night with his virtue intact, when Changmin had practically thrown himself at him, was a strange and new experience. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering when Yunho thought _would_ be a proper time to have him, and confessed all this to Minho in a whisper later that day. Minho responded by berating him for being so reckless. Nothing stayed secret for long in the castle of Sendai, and Minho warned him not to risk seeing Yunho again. Changmin knew he was right – because of all of Kazen’s possessions, there was none he guarded more jealously than Changmin. Changmin knew that to even look at Yunho wrong in public could earn him a sound thrashing, and he tried to avoid Yunho’s gaze as much as possible when household gatherings required them to be in the same room together. As the case was, he found it entirely unfair that Yunho was at liberty to look at him however he pleased, and did so at every opportunity with such quiet intensity that it made heat crawl up Changmin’s neck and to his face. He grew used to glancing up and finding Yunho’s eyes flickering towards him, to schooling his features into an unreadable mask whenever it happened. But Yunho was the sort of man who had never had to hide how he felt, and so was hopelessly bad at it. Changmin knew Kazen could not have failed to notice the way his friend’s gaze lingered on him, especially during those private after-dinner gatherings that went late into the night and involved far too much sake for anyone’s good.

Yunho was a quiet drunk who had nevertheless managed to engage Changmin in a polite, mostly-coherent conversation one evening. But his hand inched closer and closer to Changmin’s thigh under the table, and Changmin had risen to his feet just before Yunho’s fingers brushed him, stuttering something about bringing more drinks for them. When he returned Kazen had taken told of his wrist, relieved him of drinks duty and ordered him to stay by his side for the rest of the night. Changmin had curled up next to him obediently, acutely aware of Yunho gazing mulishly into his cup on the other side of the table. The memory of Yunho’s long, elegant fingers inching towards him just moments ago made Changmin hot with shameful arousal, and he knew Kazen could feel his face burning from where his cheek was pressed against his shoulder. To compensate for this and assuage Kazen’s jealous fears, Changmin made sure he was extra attentive to his lord’s needs for the next few days.

He was thus preoccupied late one night when Kazen sank a hand in his hair and yanked his head back, gazing down at Changmin’s swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“You are not to see him again,” Kazen said, the chill in his voice sending a shudder of fear down Changmin’s spine. He was glad he was already on his knees, because his legs suddenly felt too weak to hold him. Playing coy at this point would only anger Kazen further; the charade was up, and the best he could hope for at this point was to still have his head intact by morning.

“Yes, my lord,” Changmin whispered.

“You would do well to remember that it was I who plucked you out of the hands of an abusive mistress and elevated you to your rank. That it is only by my grace that you no longer have to sell yourself in the mise of Sendai,” Kazen said, softer still.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do not cross me again, Changmin,” Kazen whispered. “Do not let the thought even stray into your mind.”

“No, my lord.”

Kazen drew Changmin’s head forward and thrust into his mouth again, and Changmin almost choked before forcing his throat to relax. Kazen took his pleasure with grim efficiency after that, heedless of Changmin’s laboured struggle for breath or the fingers scrabbling helplessly against the tatami, too scared to try and make him go slower. He was rough, rougher than he had ever been with Changmin before, either as punishment or warning or both. That night, Changmin’s pained whimpers and silent tears were real.        

**\- - -**

In the morning Changmin rose before Kazen and limped to his room, his kimono wrapped around him haphazardly. It was only once the door was closed and he had pushed a chest of drawers in front of it that he allowed himself to survey the damage. Florid, finger-shaped bruises stood out all along his right side and down to his thigh. His chest had scratches on it that had crusted over with dried blood – he would need to clean those. Every inch of him ached. Parts of him that he didn’t even know existed were throbbing. It was not the first time Kazen had hurt him; after all, it was Changmin’s duty to be his release and comfort for every occasion, and that included when he was angry. But it was the first time, Changmin suspected, that he would not find some expensive gift in his room later that night, a silent apology from his lord.

Changmin sank down on his bed and closed his eyes, pulling the covers over himself in the hopes that maybe, for just one day, they might shield him from the world. He slipped into sleep, and woke hours later to the sound of Minho calling him from just outside his door.

“Changmin?” his friend hissed. Changmin rolled over and groaned as it aggravated his bruises. Minho must have heard the sound, because he rallied. “Changmin where have you been? Lord Kazen’s in a foul mood, you need to get out here and do something!”

“Seeing me won’t improve his mood any,” Changmin mumbled, still half asleep. “He knows about me and Yunho.”

There was a long pause from beyond the door. “I warned you,” Minho muttered at last, but there was an edge of concern to his admonition.

“Just leave me alone,” Changmin said, burrowing further under the covers. He heard Minho sigh and get to his feet.

“I’ll bring you something to eat later,” he said. Changmin made a sound of acknowledgment and listened to the patter of his feet fading away before sinking back into the clutches of sleep. When he woke again it was well into the day and Minho was waiting outside his door with food. Changmin let him in and picked uninterestedly at his rice.

“Changmin – ” Minho began.

“It’s over, okay? It was just a passing fancy. Let’s not speak of it again,” Changmin said. But there was no way to stop his mind from wandering, over and over again, to Yunho. Minho must have seen it in his eyes because he shook his head.

“You love him,” he said softly. Changmin was silent – nothing he could have replied with would have been sufficient to explain how he felt about Yunho. He finished his meal and stood, feeling more sticky and sore than ever. The castle was unnaturally quiet, and as they started to leave his room he glanced down the empty corridors curiously.

“Where is everyone?” Changmin asked.

“Hiding from my lord’s wrath,” Minho said, rolling his eyes. Changmin picked up a strand of his hair between thumb and forefinger and examined it.

“I might follow their good example,” he said. He bid Minho goodbye and returned to his room to collect a change of clothes before heading out.

\- - -

There was a natural hot spring in the forest behind the castle that Changmin frequented when he was craving some peace and privacy. The steaming water soothed his muscles and he sighed, sinking further in. There was a small waterfall formed by an outcrop of stone and he went to stand under it, eyes closed and hands pressed against the rocks.

He was washing his hair when he first became aware that he was being watched. Changmin paused and flipped his hair back in an arch, sending a shower of rainbow droplets dancing through the air. Gathering the long, dark strands over his shoulder self-consciously, he risked a glance behind him.

Crouching on the opposite bank, just visible through the steam, was Yunho. There was no mistaking the golden-brown beacon of his hair or his stance of tightly coiled elegance. Changmin felt his heart speed up and looked back at the rocks before him, his eyes wide. He wondered, if he ignored him, whether Yunho might leave. But Yunho had seen him see him, and he wasn’t a man about to give up without a fight. A few breathless minutes went by. Changmin felt the water ripple around him and then, suddenly, impossibly, the press of Yunho’s body behind him, gloriously warm and naked. Lips pressed against his shoulder and Changmin closed his eyes, trembling with the effort of keeping himself still.

“Yunho, you mustn’t be here. . .” Changmin whispered.

“Why not?” Yunho asked. Changmin turned to face him.

“He knows,” he said wretchedly. “He’s forbidden me to see you. If he finds out. . .he’ll kill you – ”

Yunho silenced him with a kiss, his fingers brushing down Changmin’s side. They came up against raised bruises and Changmin pulled away with a hiss as Yunho stared at him in ill-concealed shock.

“Who did this to you?” he said. Changmin looked away, retreating behind his hair as understanding flared in Yunho’s eyes. “ _He_ did this to you? I’ll kill him,” he growled. Changmin shot him an unimpressed look.

“Lord Kazen may do as he pleases with me and it is no concern of yours,” he said. Yunho looked hurt for an instant before shaking his head and folding his arms around Changmin.

“But it does concern me,” he murmured. “You don’t know how I ache for you. Your image haunts my dreams, my every waking minute. Having you so close yet so untouchable is torture.”

Changmin closed his eyes and slowly, carefully, pressed his lips against Yunho’s chest, warm and wet under his mouth. He trailed kisses up his torso until he reached his mouth again and captured his lips. Yunho kissed him with a desperate hunger, his arms tightening around Changmin as their bodies sought each other, the heat of the water suddenly negligible to the rising heat between them. Yunho spun him and Changmin braced himself against the rocks, groaning as he felt the length of Yunho behind him, hard and insistent. Golden hair slid over his shoulder and mixed with his own ebony strands as Yunho took hold of his hips and thrust into him. Changmin cried out and felt tears gather at the edge of his eyes, his body tightening at the sudden intrusion. Yunho kissed them away and started to move, slowly at first to allow him to adjust. Changmin found himself suddenly quite out of his element – he didn’t know what Yunho liked, what he wanted to hear. But as his pained gasps turned into soft moans as Yunho started hitting that spot with startling accuracy, Changmin realised _he_ was what Yunho wanted, himself exactly as he was without any facade or pretence. This realisation drew a long moan out of him, and he felt more than heard Yunho make a similar sound behind him. His hands scrabbled on the rocks for purchase before Yunho covered them with his own, the water sloshing wildly around them. Changmin let his head fall back onto Yunho’s shoulder, panting and trembling as he fell apart in the samurai’s arms.

And then suddenly Yunho was pulling out of him and away, and Changmin made a sound of protest as he was left empty and teetering on the brink of orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Yunho murmured. He pulled Changmin to the edge of the spring and lifted him out, laying him on their discarded clothes before emerging from the water himself, dripping and magnificent. Changmin didn’t care that he was getting their clothes wet – he reached for Yunho and pulled him down, parting his legs. Yunho sank back into him with a groan and Changmin shuddered, his body arching off the ground and his mouth open in a soundless moan. Their lips found each other and clung, tasting and lingering as their movements became more desperate and rushed. Yunho wrapped a hand around Changmin’s arousal and stroked him, coaxing him over the edge with him. It was sweet torture and Changmin found himself succumbing helplessly to it, unaware of what sounds were falling from his lips or how he looked in the throes of passion. He had never been so unaware of himself, never had a partner who seemed as equally concerned for Changmin’s pleasure as his own. When Yunho came he bit down on Changmin’s shoulder to muffle his groan, his hand still moving over Changmin’s arousal until he too released with a cry, shuddering and gasping.

Eventually, Yunho pulled out of him with a sigh and Changmin whimpered tiredly. His body felt too loose and satiated to move, and Yunho laughed at the expression of careless satisfaction on his face. Changmin smiled lazily up at him and Yunho leaned down to kiss his cheek, then his nose, then his other cheek. Eventually he found Changmin’s lips again and coaxed his mouth open, dipping his tongue into his wet heat.

Something rustled in the bushes and they both looked up, Yunho’s hand instantly inching towards his discarded sword. But it was only a squirrel that blinked confusedly at them before disappearing up a tree. Grinning nervously at each other, they forced themselves to rise and dress and remember that the rest of the world still existed, and was very capable of condemning them both to death for what they were doing. Still, Changmin found himself unable to resist stealing one last kiss from Yunho, his fingers tangling in soft hair. Yunho seemed equally unwilling to let him go; his arms remained tight around Changmin for long minutes, his heartbeat steady under Changmin’s ear.

The sun was starting to set by the time they finally untangled themselves from each other. Changmin left the wet mass of his hair unbound so it would dry, but Yunho tied his up, letting the long strands taper down his back. They agreed that Changmin should go first, and Yunho caught his hand just as he turned to leave.

“When can I see you again?” he asked.

“We can’t. . .Yunho, it’s too dangerous. . .”

“I don’t care,” Yunho said fiercely. Changmin sighed and pressed a soft kiss against his lips.

“I will send you a message,” he said before slipping away. The image of Yunho lit by the dying sunlight stayed with him the whole way back.

**\- - -**

Changmin knew something was wrong the moment he entered the castle. The air was heavy with the terrified silence that followed one of Kazen’s rages. He couldn’t find Minho anywhere, and it was near the kitchens that a panting retainer finally tracked Changmin down.

“Lord Kazen. . .requires your presence. . .in his chambers,” he man wheezed out. Changmin made his way to Kazen’s rooms with a rising sense of foreboding. He bowed himself into the lord’s chambers, and only when he looked up did he see Minho prostrate on the floor before Kazen. His friend rose at the sight of Changmin and stumbled to him.

“Changmin! I’m so sorry – he sent me to find you and I knew you’d be at the hot spring and I – I – ”

“Leave us,” Kazen ordered. Minho mouthed wordless apologies at Changmin, his face a mask of guilt and terror as he bowed himself out. Changmin was frozen, his heart thumping impossibly loud in his ears, his mind blank of all thought but one: _they had been seen._ Kazen turned to him, and for a brief moment there was silence. Changmin couldn’t meet his eyes, his gaze fixed firmly on the tatami mats. Then Kazen lashed out, backhanding him savagely, and Changmin fell to the floor clutching his face. Kazen fisted a hand in his hair and dragged him up, ignoring Changmin’s whimper of pain.

“I did not believe it, until I saw it with my own eyes. I did not want to believe it, until I heard you moaning under him like a bitch in heat,” Kazen whispered. Changmin made a small sound of terror and Kazen’s eyes narrowed. He flung Changmin back down against the tatami and stepped back. 

“You have shamed me,” Kazen hissed.

“No. . .” Changmin whispered.

“One thing I asked of you, one thing only: your loyalty. And even that you couldn’t give me, you filthy little slut.”

“No – please – ”

“Silence!” Kazen was beside himself, and Changmin grew silent in the face of his rage. He heard the snick of a blade being drawn and whimpered, tears of pure terror springing to his eyes. “I have no use for a possession that holds me in so little esteem,” Kazen hissed.

Changmin closed his eyes and bowed his head. He tried to remember the feeling of Yunho’s arms around him, his warmth and scent. If he was going to die he wanted it to be with Yunho’s image on the backs of his eyelids.

And then suddenly, as though Changmin thoughts had conjured him, the screen was being flung aside and Yunho was there, sword in hand and golden hair swinging around him. He blocked Kazen’s blow and stepped in front of Changmin, his stance coiled for a fight. Minho was right behind him, and he helped Changmin to his feet.

“I got him as fast as I could,” Minho whispered as Changmin clutched his arm.

“You!” Kazen snarled at Yunho. “You’ve done enough damage here – leave us!”

“No,” Yunho said calmly.

“It is no business of yours what I do with my possessions, especially not ones so worthless,” Kazen growled.

“He’s not worthless,” Yunho said, and swung. Kazen blocked and parried his blow. The clash of swords was deafening; Minho covered his ears, but Changmin couldn’t have moved if he’d tried. He was frozen with horror at what was happening, and still in shock at what had almost happened. Kazen was strong, but Yunho was a samurai who lived by his sword, and he was clearly the better fighter. Again and again he blocked Kazen’s swings, and more than once he came close to maiming the daimyo. Kazen growled and stabbed towards him and Yunho dodged the blow before opening a deep cut in Kazen’s upper arm. He flipped his hair out of his eyes with a savage grin as Kazen hissed.

“Still fighting from your torso rather than your shoulder, I see. Are you a sumo wrestler or a swordsman?” Yunho mocked.

“Shut up,” Kazen snarled. He changed hands and swung wildly, but it was clear he wasn’t as good with his left as he was with his right. Yunho blocked and spun, kicking the sword out of his grip, and came to a stop with his blade against Kazen’s throat. Kazen made a gurgling sound as Yunho pressed down, a thin line of blood trickling down his neck.

“No!”

It took a moment for Changmin to register that the word had come out of his own mouth. Yunho turned to him, and Kazen’s gaze flickered in his direction.

“Please. . .don’t kill him,” Changmin said. Yunho raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure? He would not have hesitated to kill you,” he said. Changmin went to him and curled a hand over the one holding his sword, gently lifting Yunho’s blade from Kazen’s throat.

“I suspect he would have regretted it,” Changmin said softly.

“Changmin. . .” Kazen murmured, rubbing his neck. Changmin looked down, half moving behind Yunho.

“I’m sorry Kazen,” he whispered, his fingers curling in Yunho’s sleeve. And now, meeting Kazen’s gaze, he could see the devastation there, the hurt of his betrayal. Yunho sheathed his sword, kicked Kazen’s sword to the other side of the room out of his reach and started towards the door, his arm firmly around Changmin’s waist.

“We’re leaving. I’ll expect you in Edo before the end of the month if you still wish to be part of the Shogunate,” Yunho said with his back turned.

The last thing Changmin saw was the flash of pain that crossed Kazen’s face as Yunho pulled him out of the room.

\- - -

It rained the day the samurai left.

That day, Changmin didn’t look back.


End file.
